


A Very Throbb Christmas

by Lydia_Martin_trash



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Christmas Fluff, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:31:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21794197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lydia_Martin_trash/pseuds/Lydia_Martin_trash
Summary: My fics for the Throbb Xmas Week 2019!
Relationships: Theon Greyjoy/Robb Stark
Comments: 28
Kudos: 54
Collections: A Very Throbb Christmas





	1. Day 1 - Christmas Spirit

**Author's Note:**

> This is all "fluff and nothing hurts" kinda fics for Throbb Xmas Week 2019. Not all of them are beta read, so read at your own grammatical peril.
> 
> For Day 1 I used prompt 5 "I send you a Christmas card every year, but accidentally signed with an “I love you” this time"

Theon startles awake with the noise of something crashing in the living room. Hushed sounds of someone moving things around reach his ears, and the telltale creak of careful steps on the wooden floors. His apartment is not in the best part of town, but still, a break in? On fucking Christmas Eve? That’s the infamous Theon Greyjoy brand of luck in play.

Thankfully, he was never one to lay down and let fate have its way. No one is going to rob his house without a fight.

He jumps from the bed and grabs the closest thing at hand – a lamp, because his bow and arrows are in storage, of course, he hadn’t predicted crime while baby Jesus is being born for the 2ooth time – and rushes to the living room. Fury burning hot, he crosses the threshold and throws the lamp at the invader without a second thought, with only the light from the street coming in from the window to guide his aim.

It lands straight on the guy’s head.

“Fuck! Why?” He screams even as he falls down on his ass.

He’s just a silhouette in the dark rubbing at his head, but Theon would recognize Robb’s voice anywhere. He turns on the lights only to be faced with the sight of his best friend dripping blood on his floor, a hurt look on his face.

Theon can only blink. “What are you doing skulking around in the dark in the middle of the night?”

“I thought you were visiting your parents?”

“So that makes it okay to trespass?” He drags a hand on his face, feeling tiredness settling in now that he’s not reading for a fight. “I came back early. Come on, get up, let’s get that cleaned, head wounds are a bitch.”

“Never mind, I was just passing by to check if everything was alright,” Robb says, wiping his bloodied hand on his shirt and getting up. “But now I know you’re here, so I’ll just be on my way.”

Robb has yet to look at Theon at all since this bizarre interaction started, but now Theon realizes that it’s not because he’s too mortified to do it. No, he’s avoiding looking at Theon because he’s busy looking for something on the floor, where Theon’s bowl with all his mail has fallen and spread everything.

He hasn’t looked at the thing in days, not since he left to go visit his parents for the holidays in some strange exercise in masochism that he’s never going to repeat in his life, no matter how much Mom insists. But he doubts he got anything besides a few bills and ads there.

Of course, there’s something else he gets by mail at this time of the year.

“Are you looking for your Christmas card?”

That makes Robb finally look at him.

“Did you get it yet?” He asks in a thin, nervous voice.

It’s entirely unlike him. Theon tilts his head to stare. Robb has sent him a Christmas card since they were beans together at school, two six-year-old with too many siblings and too few friends. Though he had never confessed it to anyone, Theon had been thrilled to receive the monstrosity of printing paper and blue glitter declaring them “bestest friends” and wishing him a merry Christmas in crayon. He hadn’t been fool enough to pester his father to post his own card to Robb, as Robb had undoubtedly done to Ned Stark, but he had given it to him in time.

It’s their thing, now. Robb always sends his by post, and Theon gives his in person.

Why Robb thought necessary to break into Theon’s apartment when Theon was supposed to be away – to, what, fix a misspelled word? Dot an I? – is beyond Theon.

“I’ll tell you after you let me clean that.”

“Worrywart,” Robb accuses.

Theon snorts. “Projecting much?”

But Robb follows obediently to the bathroom and that’s all Theon requires of him. He sits on the edge of the bathtub and let’s Theon tilt his head up to dab a wet ball of toilet paper on the cut. He also allows the cotton swab soaked in antiseptic, but draws the line at an actual gauze bandage.

“It’s just a little cut.”

“It’s going to leave a scar,” Theon argues. “Hopefully it’ll make you even more dashing. At least a band-aid? I have Dora ones.”

“Why in hell?” Robb arches his eyebrow and winces when it pulls at the wound.

“Christmas present. Maron thinks he’s funny.”

“He’s a clown alright.”

“So will you let me use it?”

Instead of answering one way or another, Robb leans his head on Theon’s naked stomach with a sigh. Theon takes the chance to run his fingers between wild curls. Robb’s not usually so receptive to physical touch.

“I should get you some pajamas next Christmas.” Robb looks up at him, cheeks red and dimpled chin propped on Theon’s abdomen. “How can you sleep in just your underwear with this weather?”

“Some places have this thing called heating. You should look that up, if it’s not too posh for you. But you wouldn’t have been exposed to all that anyway if you hadn’t decided to pull whatever you were doing. Care to explain?”

Robb sighs again and closes his eyes. Theon bounces his curls one by one just to watch them come back to the initial place and waits while Robb organizes his thoughts.

He opens his eyes at last. Dark blue, but warm.

“Is it trespassing if I have a key?”

“You’re the attorney here,” Theon says. “You tell me, would that behaviour fly to a court of law?”

Robb bites his lip. “I just need the card back.”

“It’s my card,” Theon says. It’s the card Robb gives him every year. The very idea of giving it up is ridiculous, even if Robb is the one asking.

“I have another one for you,” Robb argues. “One of those fancy ones, with the 3D folding.”

“I could use two Christmas cards.”

“Theon, please,” Robb begs, a pained smile on his lips. “I messed up, okay? I had a ton of things to do, I was writing the cards at the office so Dacey could post them for me, and this fucking client, you know the one–”

“Parrot Daddy?”

“–yeah, Parrot Daddy. He bursts into my office on my lunch break, crying a river because his ex… You know, it doesn’t matter, it’s just that I was in a hurry to catch the express mail, and I didn’t think about what I was writing. It got too… sincere. I don’t want you to see it. Please.”

Theon blinks. His eyes are suddenly itchy. He already knows he’ll cave, because Robb still has a sad smile on his mouth and such a pleading, lost face, but it’s awful.

He’s probably better off not knowing what was written in there anyway. It’s better to resist temptation. Robb is about the one person in his life who has never told him how difficult he is to love, even if Theon is plenty aware that it’s the truth, and if even him slipped up… at least he’s tried to avoid Theon finding out.

Theon forces a smile.

“I’ll give it back.” He waits until Robb’s shoulders sag with relief to deliver his own blow. “If you put the Dora band-aid on the cut.”

It must be really bad. Robb agrees without thinking twice.

So after Theon bandages the gash on Robb’s forehead to his satisfaction, they go back to the living room to look for the card among the spilled mail.

Except the card is nowhere to be found. Robb looks ready to burst into tears of stress. Theon makes soothing noises in his direction, but he’s all but given up in favor of picking up the pieces of his lamp and organizing all the envelopes alphabetically. He’s tired, down to his bones, from traveling all the 300km to his parent’s house with barely any pause, then the 300km back home the next day, and now from this. His best friend, his… his person wrote mean things about him and then broke into his flat to fix the mess, nearly scaring the shit out of Theon in the process. He can search by himself if he wants.

Robb really wants to, though. Even after Theon has sat down on the couch to open the mail he had been ignoring so far, he persists. He’s half under the living room rug when Theon spots the envelope laying innocuously under the TV stand.

Immediately forgetting all about his decision to not poke the metaphorical scab, Theon all but throws himself on the floor.

Robb is alerted by the racket, but by the time he manages to free himself from the rug, Theon has tore the envelope open and is reading the card, a hand over his mouth as if that could contain the reaction when it comes.

He finishes reading and looks at Robb. He didn’t expect the emotion to be confusion.

“What…? I already knew all of that, you doofus.”

Robb looks absolutely brokenhearted. He’s on all fours on the floor, reaching uselessly for the card that Theon won’t give up ever, now. There are dust bunnies on his hair.

“You _knew_?”

“Of course,” Theon says. He reads the card again, but there’s no new meaning, no hidden message to be deciphered. It’s only a repeated stream of _I love you I love you I love you_ with the odd _so fucking much _to mix it up.

It’s amazing that Robb would think it’s a secret. How many times has Robb come to him for comfort, for company or just because he just needed to share something that he had heard or seen, or that had happened to him. And wasn’t Theon just the same, from the time they were children? Love is the basis of their friendship, of any friendship, really. Which is why Theon has maybe 3 friends.

It makes no sense that he’d go to such lengths to hide something clear as day.

Theon’s heart starts to race. His mouth is dry all of sudden, but still he finds a way to ask:

“Are you in love with me?”

Robb just gives him another sad look. He gets up and dusts his knees before offering Theon a hand.

Theon lets himself be pulled up, but doesn’t ease his hold. He steps closer instead, leans down and kisses Robb.

It’s nothing like he had ever imagined kissing Robb would be like. The only bells ringing are the church’s two blocks away, announcing the 25th, their teeth clink together and their noses bump painfully, but it’s better for being real.

They only separate when they’re both panting for air, but they only go far enough to breath. Robb holds Theon’s face in his sure hands with such care, such gentleness, that Theon feels made of solid gold. He rubs the tip of his nose on Theon’s cheek and Theon opens his eyes just a sliver to watch the way Robb’s eyelashes caress his skin.

“You can open your eyes,” he says.

Robb does so, slowly. There’s something dreamy about his blown pupils.

“Say you meant it.”

So Theon obeys, and they kiss again.


	2. Day 2 - Family Gatherings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 10 "I was psychologically ready for the in-laws, but I wish you had told me about the dog"

When things start going too well for Theon, it’s usually a sign that soon they’ll turn really, really bad.

This time, however, he’s feeling optimistic. That wouldn’t be worth much normally, since he’s optimistic by nature and everything still blows up on his face 80% of the time, but he’s prepared this time. He took two full sessions to sit down with his therapist and discuss how he wanted meeting Robb’s family to go. Hell, he practiced his lines. He fucking learned how to interact with people without immediately trying to flirt his way into their good graces. He accepted correction when she said he was being purposefully self-sabotaging. That’s some real progress!

And for once it seems like his work is paying off. He has greeted Robb’s parents and his million siblings politely and talked to them like a functional adult, even found shared interests with the oldest sister and the youngest one. He has put no one off yet. His jokes have all been politically correct and at the expense of no one, he has said nothing about anyone’s sense of style and he has been patient when engaged in boring conversation and actually listened.

He’s never been this well-mannered in his life.

Robb keeps giving him an amused half smirk, because he knows exactly what Theon is doing. But he also keeps looking at him like he wants to eat Theon, so he probably approves.

Theon is dodging him a little, though, because the one time Robb caught him alone coming back from the bathroom, they ended up making out in the corridor for half an hour. Theon can’t even say he wasn’t down for it, because he was, but he doesn’t want to get caught with his hand on Robb’s ass by anyone related to him. Especially Robb’s Mom, who only just stopped giving him suspicious glances. It’s not been a full day yet. They arrived early in the morning and it’s now afternoon. Theon has plenty of time to show his true horny colors.

That’s half the reason why he agrees enthusiastically when sister No.2 asks if he wants to meet the rest of the family. She’s a friendly one, the kind of person who adopts any sort of stray as friends after 0.2 seconds of interaction. Theon could use some of that energy.

“Do you like animals?” She asks, guiding him around the house and to the snowy trail that leads deeper into the woods.

This in itself is not strange. The Stark residence is situated at the inner-most edge of a forest. They owned acres and acres of it until some ancestor decided to turn it into a preservation site. It’s not impossible that there are even more Starks, hippier Starks, living closer to the heart of the land.

Someone snorts behind them and Theon looks over his shoulder to see Robb and the youngest one following. Robb is grinning again, so Theon quickly scoops a handful of snow – and a fair share of mud – and throws at him. He steps aside to let it pass him by harmlessly while the younger brother laughs, but it’s enough to keep him quiet so Theon can turn ahead and sell his own version of facts.

“I like horses,” he tells the sister. “I had one when I was younger.”

It’s true. His family has always been into fishing, but Theon had gladly filled the role of crazy horse girl. Horses are awesome. Riding is great fun, and they’re fast and powerful. Smiler was likely the best horse to ever live. It causes Theon a pang of sadness to think of his death of old age. One of Theon’s favorite pastimes as a child has been to terrorize his brothers from atop him. He had had a gift for biting Maron out of his clothes.

The definite advantage that horses have on other pets, however, is that no one can argue that they belong inside the house. They don’t shed hair on your clothes, don’t eat from your plate or are considered anyone’s child, they don’t sleep in your bed, on top of your face. And if you can afford a horse, you can afford a stable hand to take care of said horse. Theon had often brushed Smiler himself, but he had not once cleaned his shit.

“You’ll like the pack too!” Sister chirps with a smile.

They make it into a clearing and Robb immediately walks up to Theon to wrap an arm around his waist. It’s a cold, grey day outside, and Theon mirrors the gesture without thinking about it. Robb no doubt feels it when Theon startles because sister No.2 starts howling.

Before he can ask Robb what the fuck is going on, the brother howls too. Robb winks at Theon and joins in.

Now, Theon loves Robb. He can’t make himself say it aloud yet – another thing to practice with his therapist – but he does. Consequently, he puts up with a lot that he never thought he would, like sport bars and Robb’s friends staying at their flat playing cards until 4 in the morning. He loves Robb so much, in fact, that he’s staring at him in shock, and yet he stays. He’s not running away. Apparently he’s going to put up with random howling in family trips.

Then something howls in answer.

His heart starts racing and his mouth goes dry. He clings harder to Robb. If he’s going to be wolf food for a strange ritual in the woods, he’s taking at least Robb down with him.

The worst part, the part that pisses him off the most, is that when he had told Asha he was going North with Robb for the holidays, to celebrate with his environmentalist family in some isolated little town, she had immediately pointed a finger at him, scarce centimeters from his nose, and predicted he’d suffer death by cult. And once again she’s proven right.

The thought makes him laugh so hard that he closes his eyes.

He feels Robb kissing his cheek. His body is a column of warmth and safety at Theon’s side. When he opens his eyes, the wolves have arrived.

They’re circling all over, and they’re big. Theon had no idea how fucking big a wolf was until now, and they’re huge. They’d eat him in two bites at most, but they seem strangely harmless. Friendly, almost.

Sister is on her knees and there’s a grey wolf licking all over her face while her face is scrunched in a grimace, lips a thin white line. Younger brother is the same, but with a different wolf. A third one has sat on its haunches and is looking at Robb and waiting with an air of infinite patience.

“Come with me?” Robb whispers on his ear.

Of course Theon follows as Robb pulls him by the hand. The alternative would be to let go and be alone.

“This is Grey Wind,” Robb says. “He’s the leader of the pack.”

Even with all the tension, Theon snorts. That’s enough to take Grey Wind’s attention from Robb to him.

Later, he won’t be able to really describe it. He’s enthralled. Robb shows him how to “greet” the wolf and not get mauled to death, and while he explains how the Starks had basically taken the litter in when their parents had died, he lets himself be greeted in turn.

He learns the hard way the reason for everybody’s grimaces when Grey Wind immediately frenches him with no hesitation.

Theon falls on his butt on the frozen ground, and the next thing he knows the other wolves are giving him the same treatment. Except this time Theon keeps his eyes and mouth shut for dear life.

Soon they tire of him, thankfully, and only Robb and Grey Wind remain close. The sister and brother have moved back to the path, yelling for the others. Robb helps him get up and wipes his face with a handkerchief.

“Old man,” Theon says, but there’s no heat in it. Any anger he might have felt has been drowned in wolf slobber.

“I can stop if you want.”

“Don’t you dare.”

When he’s more drool-free, Robb leans on and pecks him on the lips. Theon can’t help laughing.

“Ew! Gross! You just ate wolf saliva.”

“That’s how much I love you,” Robb says.

“Well, in that case...”

Robb doesn’t resist when Theon goes in for a kiss, a real one this time. It’s not that bad being caught making out if it’s just a wild animal, Theon discovers.


	3. Day 3 - Winter is here!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 16 "The heating is broken so we are sharing the bed for warmth. Wake up! This is supposed to be sexy! Take those icicles you call feet away from me!"

Robb is down in the basement tinkering with the furnace in his pajamas, when he hears Theon’s quiet footsteps approaching. He turns around and sees him standing two steps above the cold floor, still in woolen socks and with a fleece blanket around his shoulders. He watches Robb still half-awake at most; the yellow basement light make the dark circles under his eyes look a bruised purple. This time of the year is hell on him, but a little smile blossoms on his lips.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” Robb had tried to be quiet, but he’s not exactly graceful under duress, and Theon is a light sleeper.

“The cold woke me,” he says, yawning. “Any chance you just decided to turn it off for maintenance in the middle of the night?”

“Limit control is broken. I’ll get a new one in the morning, but we’re out of options until then, I’m afraid.”

Theon shrugs. He’s slow to unsettle in most circumstances, something that Robb, an overthinker by nature, appreciates greatly. “Back to sleep then. I still have five hours before I have to show my face for work.”

There really isn’t anything else for it, so back to bed they go. Theon’s room is at the end of the corridor, after Robb’s and the guest bathroom. He pauses with Robb at Robb’s door and gives him a considering look.

“I hope you can fall asleep alright. I bet it’s freezing in there now that the heating is off.”

“I don’t really feel the cold that much,” Robb says. “I’m told I’m a human furnace.”

“I do, quite a lot,” Theon says, smiling a little at Robb and twisting the fleece blanket on his fists. “I wish I had something like a human furnace to keep me warm.”

Robb gulps. It’s so fucking tempting to offer to keep Theon warm, but in the end he manages to squeak: “I have an electric blanket if you’d like it?”

Theon grimaces and sticks his tongue out. It’s a childish gesture, Robb tells himself. It’s not endearing.

“Thanks, but I think I’ll pass.”

And he waves goodbye as he leaves Robb at his door.

Robb watches as Theon flows away like any other day, but lets himself imagine what is just beyond reach like a slow-motion movie sequence playing inside his brain. The fantasy of inviting Theon in before he disappears inside his own four walls is not new by any means, but it still hasn’t gotten old. Throw-away comments like that keep it from getting old. In his mind, he’s brave enough to flirt back, and instead of being freaking out Theon accepts the offer with that dirty smirk of his.

Some things are better left untouched, though. If the idea of sleeping with Theon sounds like a dream, the reality of finding a decent roommate in the city is a nightmare.

Robb has given it a few tries, so he considers himself somewhat of a specialist in the dangers inherent to roommate search. Before Theon had called about the house, Robb had shared quarters with all kinds of people. The ones who didn’t pay their half of rent on time, if at all; the ones who had really loud sex no matter how much Robb complained about it; the potheads who made a point of smoking near Robb’s asthmatic ass. The last woman, Bethany, had taken off with the TV while he was at work, only to trip on the front yard and break it before making her escape. He had come home to find the carcass on the driveway and all her things gone, hence the need for a replacement roommate and a replacement TV.

When Theon had visited to check out the place, Robb had expected the worst case of roommate yet. He had seemed too perfect to be true. Cute friendly guy who pays bills on time, compliments the pride sticker on the car and has similar levels of anal-retentiveness about cleaning? Robb had fully expected him to reveal himself as a pimp, a drug dealer or worse before the week was out.

Yet here they are two years later, and Theon’s worst sin is colonizing the place with his clothes and shoes. It works perfectly, so Robb’s going to get over his feelings any day now, he’s sure, because Theon might be flirty and free with his affections, but he’s also only ever brought women home with him. One day Robb will get through his head that it’s not worth it to obsess over it.

While that doesn’t happen, though, Robb is going to unearth his electric blanket from his closet anyway and jerk it where it’s toasty and warm, preferably thinking of Theon crawling into bed with him.

In the morning, Robb abandons grading in favor of going to the hardware store for a limit control. It’s not like it’s a great sacrifice on his part – no student is dumber and consequently more frustrating than when doing pre-winter break homework – but it still takes most of the morning.

It’s not the best time ever, but he wants to do it. He’s decided to do it. Theon had left for his shift in the morning with a thermos full of coffee and the belief that he’d come home to a functional heating system again in the evening. Robb would hate to disappoint him.

So after finally finding the fucking thing, he spends most of the afternoon trying to actually fix the limit control. It just needs replacing. How hard can it be?

Very hard, as it turns out. By the time Robb finally admits defeat, it’s past six and everyone who might come in to fix it is closed. He tries making a few calls, but no one is willing to come this late.

“It’s snowing, dude,” a man says in an incredulous voice when Robb offers to pay double. “Only after the city sands the street.”

When Robb peaks out of the kitchen window, it is indeed snowing. He doesn’t know when it started, but it’s at about 4 inches deep already. And it’s colder than yesterday, so frigid that Robb is wearing a coat and boots inside and it’s still uncomfortable.

He thinks of Theon and tries again. And again.

Results are no better than the first try, and for the second time in the day, Theon descends the basement stairs again to find Robb scowling at the furnace.

“I don’t think this is helping,” he says, watching as Robb hits the furnace with a wrench.

Robb lowers his arm to turn and look at him. He looks cold even still wrapped in his scarf and overcoat, he’s even shivering a little. His hair is wet. Robb feels instantly bad, so he turns around and hits the furnace one more time for good measure.

“Stupid thing had one job.”

“Come on, cheer up! I got us Indian!”

Robb follows him upstairs, and they curl together on the couch to eat and conserve as much heat as possible. Robb’s mood is not gone – there’s not enough poori masala in the world to do that – but having a full stomach goes a long way to making him feel better.

“Did you know this is supposed to be eaten for breakfast?”

“Ask me if I care,” Theon says. He’s usually a picky eater, but he’s eating like he’s starved. Robb would bet anything a customer took up all his lunch break again.

“I’m guessing you don’t. We’re rebels without a cause.”

“Correct. Do you know what I care about?” Theon asks, waving a piece of flatbread in front of Robb’s face. “Not freezing to death tonight and getting some sleep.”

Robb can’t help pouting a little. “I’m sorry, I thought I’d be able to fix it, but I’ll have someone come check it tomorrow.”

“I’m not blaming you. You tried and that’s already more than I did, but I _am_ telling you: we’re going to share the bed tonight.”

Robb chokes on his food and Theon has to all but punch his back to save him from death by potato.

“What? I mean… I don’t think this will be necessary? You can have the electric blanket, I don’t really feel the cold, I’m sure–”

“Robb, stop,” Theon says. “It’s only going to get colder tonight and I’m already freezing now. Be reasonable. We’re adults.”

He opens his mouth to argue, then closes it. Sharing the bed and the only electric blanket is the obvious solution. It’s the practical thing to do. They’ve been living together for two years, they’re friends. Theon knows how Robb feels and he’s never been malicious about it so far. In all likelihood, he won’t hold any boners that happen against Robb.

There’s nothing to do but agree.

Still, he’s in a nervous haze while getting ready for bed. He brushes his teeth and changes into his pajamas to the background sounds of Theon singing to himself while he heats water on the stove and carries it to his bedroom, volume getting higher or lower as he passes by Robb’s bedroom door.

Theon’s baths are never short. He usually puts the radio on close to the bathtub and sings along for at least one terrifying hour, which Robb spends praying that he doesn’t accidentally electrocute himself. And that’s if he doesn’t get bath bombs or other mysterious bath products that leave him smelling like candy.

Somehow, despite all of this, Robb is still paralysed inside his own en-suite bathroom after he is finished. He startles awake when Theon knocks on the door and drops his toothbrush on the sink.

“Sorry I invaded your room, but I’m about to get frostbite.” He smiles a little, jumping from foot to foot at Robb’s bathroom door.

He’s wearing a yellow onesie with “Let’s Get Kraken” written in bold black letters on his chest. Robb should thank his lucky star that it’s not the silk pajamas he knows Theon prefers or just the underwear he sleeps on during summer, but any relief is drowned in amusement.

“That’s so cu–”

“Don’t even finish that sentence!” Theon yells over him. “I’m obviously very desperate and Asha got me this because she’s the worst. Now where is that blanket?”

They go to bed and Theon all but melts into the warmth with a sigh. Robb can only see the very top of his head, but it’s too easy to imagine himself unzipping that onesie and tugging it down until Theon is naked under his hands.

Robb rolls on his stomach before he tents the blanket.

Theon mirrors the act and they end up very close, facing each other. The lower half of his face is hidden by the onesie’s hood, but Theon’s black eyes are smiling.

“Hi,” Robb says, not even caring how dumb or smitten he sounds.

“Hi,” Theon says.

A hand finds Robb’s under the sheets, and then they’re laying there side by side, staring at each other with their fingers entwined. Robb realizes quite suddenly that he’s not going to sleep any time soon.

“That okay?” Theon asks.

He’s probably never getting over Theon either.

“You know it is.”

“Because we’re friends?” Theon asks again, but there’s a resigned note to his voice now that Robb hates, to be completely honest.

“Because it’s you,” he confesses.

“You’re so fucking cheesy, Robb!” Theon laughs and shoves his cold feet on Robb’s leg. “It’s embarrassing to have a crush on you!”

Robb’s head snaps up so quickly it’s a miracle he doesn’t break his neck. He’s quick enough to catch Theon’s whole internal journey playing out on his face: realization, horror, acceptance. Before he can bolt, Robb grabs blindly at his ice-cold foot and holds tight.

“Did you mean it all those times you hit on me?!”

Theon licks his lips and laughs. It’s a weak sound, nervous, unlike his normal scandalous shriek. Robb rubs a thumb on the skin of his ankle until he’s calm enough to answer.

“I know this is not the best time to bring it up, with the whole having nowhere else in the house to go, but... yes?” He laughs a little more, entirely oblivious to the way Robb’s heart soars with every word. “I should apologize. I know it makes you uncomfortable and you get all tense, and you don’t have to like me back just because you’re gay and I’m hot. It just kinda gets away from me sometimes. I promise I’ll stop.”

“Don’t.”

Theon looks confused for a second, but a smile blossoms on his face when Robb drags him closer by the foot and kisses him breathless.

Thankfully, Theon is much quicker on the uptake than Robb.

He slips the onesie off of him after all.


	4. Day 4 - Cultural Touchstones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 24 "I’m helping you out after you were framed for drug dealing, lost your job and house and were abandoned by your fiancé because I want monetary compensation later, not because I like you", from the movie Trading Places (which I consider a Christmas movie, yes).

Robb wakes to sunlight stabbing his brain right behind his eyes and a dull ache across his whole body pulsating in tandem with the pounding inside his skull. He tries to turn over in bed and hid for some measure of darkness, only to fall to the floor.

A groan is muffled by a mouthful of nylon. Distantly, like a fog of things he’d rather not think about, he knows that he has wooden floors in his bedroom, not carpet. There’s no sense for the smell of smoke reaching his nose or the sound of traffic and people loudly going about their daily lives that near. He’s not home, and yet it’s a full minute before he can make himself care enough to open his eyes.

What else could even happen to him at this point? Waking up in a strange place, possibly after being kidnapped, doesn’t even rank in the list of worst things to happen to him this month.

When his head stops spinning, the first thing he notices is the man in the beaten down armchair right in his line of sight, sat on a patch of sunlight coming in from an open window together with the sounds of the street. He’s smoking a cigarette and watching Robb intently through a curtain of bluish smoke, dark eyes as bottomless as they are inscrutable. His black hair sits in a messy bun at the top of his head and he’s wearing a thin, shiny floral robe and fluffy slippers.

Robb feels as if he’s interrupting a very important operation just by falling head first to the floor. He’s about to apologize and excuse himself when he remembers.

“You’re the guy who tried to blow me!”

It’s an accusation, plain and simple. Robb is angry, would be furious if the headache allowed for shouting. But of all possible reactions, the man laughs. At once, the air of mystery and coldness around him is replaced by the warmth that radiates from his smile. Robb is unsettled and disarmed despite himself.

“That was me! Though in my defense, I thought you had requested it,” he says, still smiling. He offers Robb the cigarette and rolls it from one finger to the next and back again when he refuses. “Things got a bit confusing on my end.”

Robb nods, regretting it almost immediately when a new jab hits his head, so strong it makes his stomach turn.

He bites down nausea to ask: “Where am I?”

“My humble abode,” the man says, waving grandly around, as if to encompass the entirety of the tiny room with its single couch, two armchairs, center table and mismatched knick-knacks. There’s a fern hanging from a wall, but Robb’s not sure if it’s real or if it’s plastic. “I ran into you after your little stint at The Twins, so I dragged you here so you had somewhere to cry in peace. It would be a pity to freeze that ass off.”

Robb recalls the incident only vaguely. He doesn’t really make a serious attempt at remembering. It’s enough that he smells like sour, alcoholic sweat and is still dressed in a cheap Santa costume. The plan, if it could even be called that, had been to kill old Walder, or maybe to kill himself and make the headlines of the next day, cause a scandal to embarrass and hopefully break the Freys for at least a generation.

He had failed. A new but persistent theme lately.

“Why did you help me? After...”

“After I participated in ruining your life?” The man asks, shrugging. “I guess I felt bad. That was just work for me. I thought I was in for some old-school, run-of-the-mill cock-sucking, that was what I was called for. I had no idea I was part of some grand scheme to set you up and make it seem like you were cheating on your boyfriend. No offense, but I’d have asked for more had I known, and upfront.”

Robb laughs. It’s a bitter sound, jarring in the cool morning light, nothing like the man’s cheerful bell-like tinkling.

“Not just cheating.”

“Sorry?”

“Not just cheating. Embezzlement, and drug dealing too.”

“Wow,” he takes a drag of the cigarette and holds the smoke in for a ridiculous long time before exhaling it all out in an angry huff. “And people fell for that? You seem so straight-laced, even in your deranged Coca-cola costume.”

“They were quite eager to believe it,” Robb admits.

Even Olyvar, who had seemed so loyal and in love just last week. Had he been in on it too? He had looked so hurt when he had “caught” Robb with this very man all but wrapped around him in his family home, and there had been no explaining to him that it was all a misunderstanding, he had bolted while Robb stuttered half-formed apologies. Robb had felt terrible, especially because he _had_ been tempted. The man in front of him is more attractive, more beautiful as well, but what had drawn Robb in had been the wicked smile, inviting him to go wild. The man – he had introduced himself as Theon, if Robb recalled it right – and Olyvar couldn’t be more different in that regard. Olyvar was as serious and correct as Robb.

Or so he had thought.

He had been wrong about Olyvar, about everything he thought he knew about his life. And the one person he had believed had deceived him, was the one to extend him a helping hand when he was at his worst.

“Is your name really Theon?”

The man takes a last drag and puts the cigarette stub out in the ashtray on the center table.

“Don’t I look like a Theon to you?”

Robb shrugs. “I thought it might be an alias. In your line of work...”

“That would be the smart thing to do. Alas, I don’t do smart. Case in point.” He gestures in Robb’s direction as if his presence was all needed explanation.

“Thank you for helping me. I don’t know where I would be if I had been left on my own yesterday.”

“Don’t mention it. In fact, there’s one more thing I can do for you.” He winks and gets up from the armchair in one fluid motion.

Robb watches, heart suddenly hammering in his chest, as Theon comes closer. He’s wearing the same smile that had made Robb follow him into a bathroom a week earlier, but this time he bypasses Robb entirely and disappears through a doorway a few steps behind the couch.

He comes back with a glass of water, two aspirin pills and a piece of bland toast, and that’s almost worst for Robb’s heart than sexual favors.

Robb eats everything and takes the medicine. The nausea at least settles down a little. The headache is still there as Theon gives him his shoes, hopefully it’ll go away soon.

“Thank you again. Seriously. You don’t know how much I appreciate it. If I could ever repay you–”

“You can,” Theon interrupts. Robb looks up from tying his Santa boots to see him biting his lip thoughtfully. “I know no services were rendered and it technically wrecked everything, but I never got paid. I went back there to demand it, but got kicked out. That’s how I was in place to help you. I know you don’t owe me anything, being the victim here and all, but the Freys suck, you’re loaded and I’m behind on rent, so...”

“Oh,” Robb says when the words sink in. “I’m sorry. I wish I could help, but I had my bank accounts frozen while investigation is in course. I’m homeless right now, in fact.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah,” Robb agrees, laughing ruefully. “But, hey, actually, I had a gun with me, I could pawn it off–”

“Sorry, that’s down in some sewer now,” Theon interrupts again. “I wasn’t about to bring an armed man who I swindled into my home.”

They stare at each other until Theon breaks the spell by coughing. Robb blinks and goes back to his shoes, again feeling like an intruder. He gets up when he’s done and waits until Theon is breathing normally to say:

“I should probably get out of your hair.”

Theon looks as if he quite agrees, but he gives Robb an amused smirk.

“Where to? Didn’t you just say you’re homeless?”

“I can’t keep imposing on you.”

“Do you have any family that would take you in?”

Robb winces. The thought is almost worse than being framed and dumped by everyone he had called friend. “My Dad is the Commissioner, and my uncle is in the corps too… they’re barred from working on my case anyway, I’m sure they’d help me, but any show of partiality can get them in a bad place if the Freys decide they have it in for me.”

“Your Mom?”

“She has a lot on her plate right now,” he says. Last he knew, Dad had forbidden anyone telling her about Robb’s woes while grandpa was still in the hospital and the kids had obeyed for once, even Bran. They all had hope things would be put to rights before some busybody told her. “Look, I’ll be fine. I’ll find a shelter or something. There’s a Salvation Army bucket in every corner this time of the year, I’m sure someone could give me directions.”

Theon laughs so hard that tears roll down his cheeks. “What in this godforsaken Earth would you, an openly gay man, do in a Salvation Army shelter? I’ll go with you to look for your gun and shoot you myself, it’ll be quicker.”

Robb frowns. “I’m open to suggestions, if you have a better idea.”

“I do. Stay here.”

All air leaves Robb’s lung at once and he chokes on nothing.

Theon takes a step closer and pats his back, a look of unadulterated sympathy on his handsome face.

“It’s pretty clear you’re new to rock bottom. As a veteran, let me impart some hard-earned wisdom, even if I usually end up there as a result of my own actions,” he says, squeezing Robb’s shoulder. “First, accept my offer and stay over at least until you have somewhere to go that’s not hypothetical. Second, take a shower, because you smell. And third, let me lend you some clothes so you look less ridiculous. Then you can ponder your real options and think of a way to pay me for my assistance.”

Robb can only stare at him for a moment. Not long ago, he’d have trusted this man blindly, he’d have believed that people were just this good and that it was only natural to offer a hand to someone who badly needed it. Even last week, he’d be suspicious but grateful for a break.

“What do you have to gain from helping me?” He asks. “There’s no guarantee I’ll ever have money to give you in the future.”

“And yet you’re nearly my only chance of receiving what I’m due at all.” Theon shrugs. “The Freys aren’t going to fork it out, and even if they did, I’m petty enough I’d rather see their name dragged through the mud for playing me. My landlord is not going to evict me just yet, so you might as well stay for now. If you’d rather face the world outside, take at least the offer for the shower.”

Robb bites on his lip and nods slowly.

“I’ll take the shower and let you know if I’ll stay.”

“Wait here and I’ll get you a towel and a change of clothes,” Theon smiles. “Not much I own will fit you, but anything is better than sexy Santa.”

He disappears into another doorway and comes back with just that. The shirt and sweatpants he brings thankfully are decidedly less floral than his robe, and Robb accepts it while fighting down a twinge of gratefulness. Even if Theon has already gone above and beyond, he’s doing it for money. Robb shouldn’t forget that.

“You can leave that on the hamper.” Theon gestures at the red outfit as Robb enters the tiny bathroom Theon pointed out to him. “I’ll wash it with my own laundry in case you have to go down a chimney or something later.”

Since he has nothing with him, not even his wallet, Robb smiles. “Don’t you go through my pockets!”

“That ship’s already sailed.” Theon smirks back and closes the door.

Despite all his misgivings and misfortunes, before he knows it he’s been living with Theon for three weeks. And for all he’s poor, single and disgraced, he’s feeling much better. They make a routine of watching Christmas movies side by side on the couch when Robb gets home after trying and failing to find himself a lawyer who’ll take his case or a job that’ll exploit him during the day. He’s _persona non grata_ everywhere in the city but for Theon’s apartment and his parent’s house.

While Robb searches the city fruitlessly, Theon sleeps most of the day away. He does all regular stuff that people do until sundown in the night. Sometimes Theon gets calls and leaves for hours at a time, but mostly he stays put.

It’s sluggish and strangely peaceful.

In other times, Robb would be spending his nights with Olyvar, likely fretting about wedding plans, going through the motions even if privately he wondered if he wanted to get married at all. Now he’s eating cereal for dinner while Theon smokes cigarette after cigarette and drinks cheap wine from Cotsco.

“Do you have work tonight?” He asks after night settles and Theon has made no move to get out of his floral robe. It’s the third different one Robb has seen him in. He’s sensing a pattern. If he had any money to his name, he’d get Theon a fourth one for Christmas, as a thank you.

“No, unless I get a last minute call. Christmas season is always slow. Most of my regulars are married and the holidays are family time.”

Robb snorts. “A bit hypocritical of them.”

“As long as it keeps a roof over my head.” Theon smirks. “I’m not paid to judge, so I only do that on my free time.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t judge either, I don’t have much of a leg to stand on.”

“Well, you didn’t do anything in the end,” Theon says. “Being tempted is not the same as sealing the deal. And if you had done it, who could blame you? I’m hard to resist.”

Robb sighs, but he can’t help smiling. “You’re the most conceited man I’ve ever met. It’s a pity I no longer have the funds, now that I’m free.”

Theon gives him his trademark smile and throws his feet, until then grazing the nylon carpet, over Robb’s lap. Robb’s heart jumps and Theon looks as if he’s considering something, but in the end he just licks his lips and goes back to watching the television.

After a while, he breaks the silence. “Someone called about you today.”

Robb frowns. “No one knows I’m staying here.”

“This guy does. His name is Sam Tarly. He’s a journalist, he says, and he asked me to give you his number.”

“What for?” Robb frowns and starts playing with Theon’s painted toes just for something to do until he’s squirming away from being tickled. “No one wanted to hear what I had to say when I was dying to say it. Everybody would rather accuse me without any real proof.”

“You have nothing to lose by seeing what the guy wants.” Theon points out. “Isn’t your father a cop? Do your research before getting in touch with him. Maybe he’ll be willing to tell your side of the story.”

Robb frowns at the television a while yet, but in the end, he relents.

“I guess I should call him back before he shows up here,” he says.

“I’m going with you, if you’re meeting him,” Theon says, and kicks lightly at Robb’s thigh when he snorts. “Shut up! You obviously can’t be trusted to do things on your own.”

“And you’re going to take care of me?” Robb asks, smirking. “Careful, or I’m going to fall for you, at this rate.”

“Haven’t you already?” Theon smirks at him.

Robb has no acceptable answer to give, so he stays quiet and turns back to the muted television.

Sam Tarly is the last person Robb would ever suspect of being a journalist – especially an investigative journalist, which is what he says he is.

They met at a bar in Hell’s Kitchen, after a very thorough investigation of his credentials by Dad and Uncle Ben and after, surprises of surprises, Jon had vouched for him during his weekly Skype call.

“We were in the same class in Castle Black,” he had said, eyes warm and nostalgic enough that Robb had suspected there was more story to it than his brother was letting on. He’d have to dig deeper the next time Jon was between tours. “You can trust him, and tell him I said hi.”

Tarly is taller and fatter than everyone else in the room, and yet the way he moves, the way he’s dressed, his very aura invite people to look somewhere else. He has every appearance of someone who doesn’t want to be noticed, but he nods and waves awkwardly at Robb and Theon when they get inside the place.

“Thank you for coming, Mr. Stark,” he says with a trembling smile. “And Mr…?”

“Theon is fine.”

“Should we get a table?” Sam asks, already moving in the direction of the booths, nearly knocking over a chair on the way and stuttering apologies to a waitress who gives him a murderous glare.

Theon and Robb exchange a look.

“He doesn’t fill me with confidence,” Robb says.

Theon smirks. “At least he’s harmless?”

But appearances are deceiving, and harmless Sam Tarly is not.

He picks an empty booth between a bridal entourage loudly racing each other to a drunken stupor before hitting the clubs and a celebration of some blue collar workers, a place no one can hear them whispering and that the bar staff is avoiding like the plague. Once they’re all seated, he grills Robb so hard that he’s left reeling from all the questions. And that’s without Robb drinking any of the beers and cocktails and the wine bottle Sam keeps ordering for the table. While he drinks water.

He only really stops with it when he’s ascertained to his satisfaction – the exact _hows_ are a mystery to Robb – that Robb can be trusted.

By that point, Theon is already a drunken mess, half paying attention to them and half climbing the booth to flirt with the women on the next table while keeping a leg on Robb’s shoulder. Sam watches them for a moment without losing any of his scared, shy expression. His pale eyes seem tremulous, his voice hesitant, and yet his words are clear.

“Do you still have any material with you?”

“Material?” Robb asks, busy clinging to Theon’s calf so he can stay upright.

“Documents. Tax reports, bank notes, anything that shows the origins of the money and where it’s going.”

“I have nothing. I only learned there was anything wrong when security showed up and planted drugs on my desk. Even then, I didn’t know the full extent of accusations until my Dad bailed me out.”

“That’s not ideal.” Sam sighs, combing his hair back nervously. “I’ve been collecting information on the Freys for 3 years now, but I had hoped you could give me something more solid.”

Robb nearly laughs. His life, ruined, is not enough evidence. It’s a good thing Theon’s leg goes weak and he falls half on Robb’s lap, or he might have stormed out.

“Then all of this is for nothing.”

“I could still interview you.” Sam drums his fingers on the tabletop; it’s clear in his face that he regrets calling Robb, now that he’s faced with his misdirected anger, but he soldiers on. “But without evidence, it’s unlikely to stir too much public interest.”

And of course, public interest and public opinion are the only things that might guarantee a fair investigation for Robb.

He’s still processing this bit of unwelcome news when Theon starts babbling in his shirt.

“What now?!” Robb snaps. He’s angry, hopeless, slightly aroused, and Theon is making one of those things much worse. He doesn’t deserve this. He paid all his taxes, recycled, biked to work. What sin did he commit on a past life to be in this situation?

Theon doesn’t seem intimidated by his tone, unlike Sam, who looks ready to scramble. If anything, he seems irritated that he needs to repeat himself.

“Let’s go get the evidence,” he slurs.

“Okay, it’s time to shut up and sleep it off,” Robb says, beyond annoyed now and with his dick twitching inside his pants. He pushes Theon off him into a sitting position.

This whole night has been a waste of time, a resource getting more and more scarce since Robb will probably be thrown in jail any day now. He just wants to go home, Theon’s home, and rest.

But Theon is a much worse drunk than Robb, who apparently just cried non-stop after getting kicked out of the Twins. He balls his fists and punches the table and looks ready to throw down.

“It’s a good idea!” He says, not quite in a yell, but loud enough that it isn’t drowned by the bar noises. “Tarly, tell him!”

Sam, who had shrunk into himself while they argued, straights up the smallest bit. With the way he chews his lips nervously and looks around in panic, Robb fully expects him to mutter something about needing to go, or about breaking the law, bus instead he says.

“It would be exactly what we need, but I don’t see how… I can’t hack their database from an external computer, and the important information might be hidden – or, or coded, and I don’t see how we could access any of it from the outside...”

“We just go there and print stuff!” Theon says with a beaming smile.

Robb hates that he’s charmed by his drunk enthusiasm and blind optimism.

“Let’s do just that. We’ll ring the Twins’ doorbell and the concierge will just let us in through the front door–”

“We’ll use the backdoor, dummy!” Theon pats Robb’s cheek, looking terribly satisfied with himself now that Robb is agreeing with his plan.

“Sure, we’ll just crowbar our way inside, wear some sky masks, that won’t get us caught.”

“This is not the worst idea, actually,” Sam says in a quiet voice. “Do you own a crowbar? I have a friend who might lend me one.”

Robb arches an incredulous eyebrow at him. He can’t believe it falls to the guy who disguised himself as Santa to crash a party and try for murder/suicide to talk sense into the supposedly law-abiding, respectable citizen and the amoral, money-grabbing sex worker.

As tempting as invading the Frey’s headquarters to wreck havoc sounds, Robb really can’t afford any slips. He’s still wondering how to communicate so these two will _understand_ that when Theon tsks.

“Don’t need one. Gotta a key.”

Then he promptly lays his head on Robb’s shoulder and passes out.

Sam is rich enough and generous enough that Theon and Robb finish the night at his house, after the three of them take a cab he also pays for. Still, it’s impossible to awake Theon until nearly midday, and when he’s finally with them on the land of the living, it takes nearly a full pot of coffee before he’s coherent.

When he does tell the whole story, it’s so ridiculous that Robb wonders if the coffee wasn’t laced with something.

“Are you still drunk?” Robb sits by his side on Sam’s couch, puts a hand on his forehead and intertwines their fingers together with the other.

Theon grins. “Would taking my temperature help if I was?”

Robb immediately drops the hand, but Theon holds the other tight when he tries to pull away. Sam is frowning at them, but it’s more confusion than anything else.

“Is this, hmm, standard procedure? When you’re working? I mean, do all clients…?”

“No, that was a first, I usually just ring the bell and someone opens the door,” Theon says. “They told me where I could find the key and when to come inside. I realized I was being sneaked in, but I only thought it was some especially desperate g0y during a work function or something of that sort. The description I was given fit Robb, so I approached him, but when he spoke, I realized the voice on the phone was different. There wasn’t a lot of time to figure out what was going on before his fiancé caught us. I just went for the nearest exit because someone was screaming for security.”

“And it was a different entrance than the one you used to come in.”

Theon nods slowly, but still rubs his temple with a wince of pain.

“The front entrance. It’s better to act natural when making a circumspect exit. Security checks the people coming in to a party, not people leaving.”

“And you kept the key to the employee entrance?” Sam asks, voice bright with curiosity.

Robb can definitely see how he became a journalist, now. Just a hint of a good story and he’s forgetting all about his fearful persona.

“Of course. I hadn’t been paid, but I had done my part on their farce, if unwillingly. And if I couldn’t find whoever called me, then I’d at least get compensation.”

“You mean you were going to steal something valuable,” Robb corrects, but he can’t help being amused.

“It’s not stealing if I was only getting what I’m owned.”

“Did you manage to find the caller?” Sam interrupts, not nearly as interested in Theon’s rationale as Robb.

“I couldn’t even get inside. The place was much better guarded than the week before.”

“It’s because it was a smaller reunion on the 16th, just for family and higher-ups in the company and business associates,” Robb explains. “The 23th was the party for all employees. It’s meant to be much bigger and showy, but Old Walder is scared someone might stab him in the face, so the vigilance is stricter.”

“I’d stab him if I got the chance,” Theon says, caressing Robb’s hand distractedly. “I feel like it every time his geriatric ass is on the news with another oily 18-year-old accessorizing his moth-bitten suit.”

Robb grins. “Imagine if you had to work for him.”

“Did you do any surveillance of the building while you were there?” Sam asks.

Theon turns to him and blinks, seeming almost baffled by Sam’s presence. “Obviously not. I waited around to see if I could enter unnoticed, but I had to abort mission when Robb got kicked out, again.”

“At least I got in!” Robb defends himself. The Santa idea had been clever, if a bit humiliating.

“Congrats on that. I couldn’t pull that off,” Theon says.

Robb already knows him enough to realize he means he would never be caught dead in a cheap Santa costume, but whatever answer he could come up with is cut short by Sam’s fake cough.

“Do you believe security would be laxer now?”

“It’s the middle of January. Most of the family is traveling or in the summer house,” Robb says. “It’ll be as lax as it ever gets.”

Sam sighs. He looks as if he’ll advise caution, like he’ll say their best course of action is just an interview with Robb’s version of facts is their best bet. But he keeps surprising Robb. Theon too, by the satisfied but incredulous arc of his eyebrows.

“Let’s hope no one thought to change the locks.”

They decide on the last week of January for the actual break-in. That gives Sam and Theon some time to learn all they can from the outside.

Since he is too infamous, Robb is forbidden to help with reconnaissance. Instead, he leaves them to it and finally goes to the public defense office to beg for a lawyer for his case just before he’s summoned to give his statement.

He is ridiculously grateful for Brienne. By some strange coincidence, the detectives working on his investigation have a complicated story with his family and they’re fully prepared to take their dislike out on Robb. Their methods make Sam look like a blushing flower, and he nearly put Theon into an alcoholic coma. Brienne’s presence discourages anything overt, and her solid grip keeps him from saying more than he should, but Robb still leaves the precinct shaking with rage.

She takes him to Central Park afterwards and sits with him on a bench until he’s calm again.

Then she looks at him, her clear blue eyes leaving no room for dodges. “I need you to tell me everything that happened. The full story.”

Robb has every intention of disobeying that order. He doesn’t tell her anything about Theon beyond admitting he’s staying with a friend. About Sam and their plan, he stays completely mute. Until Brienne says:

“I understand you don’t want to involve your family, but if they have the means, you should let them pay for a private eye. I don’t like how this investigation is being handled.”

Robb knows exactly what she means. Karstark and Bolton were looking for a confession, not for answers to what happened or who is guilty. They already cast Robb in that role.

“Anything I tell you will be in confidence, right?”

Brienne frowns, but nods. “Even if you did everything they accused you of, I’ll defend you. I won’t discuss anything you tell me with anyone else, just advise your on the best course of action to take.”

“You don’t need to sound so grim. I’m innocent. It’s just that… I have some people looking into it. Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

And that’s how Brienne is introduced to Theon and Sam, and why she is there with them when they break in.

“Break-in” is a very generous term, in reality. What happens is that they walk to the alley where the employee entrance is located, separately and as inconspicuously as possible, and Theon uses the key to a door that opens into a storage room full of cleaning products.

The lock is the same, and it’s snowing so heavily that no one bats an eyelid at their heavy coats and the hats that cover almost their whole face. The snow will also help them in case any external cameras catch them, and with the cold it’s less likely that any curious onlookers will linger.

It’s impossible to avoid the internal cameras entirely, so Robb teaches everyone where to look so at least their faces are hidden. He and Olyvar had made a sport out of that back in the day, when everything had been so new and exciting that they had to make out at work. Robb hopes that Merrett is still in charge of watching the internal camera circuit, and that he has passed out instead of working as is his habit, but even if that happens, security personnel still does the rounds. Their time is limited.

Luck is on Robb’s side for once; they navigate the Twins and everything is going perfectly, so smooth that Robb could cry. Even the door to Robb’s old office being locked doesn’t deter them. Brienne – the one person not present for the crowbar debacle – pulls a crowbar out of her coat and makes short work of it.

“I’m embarrassed those people could dupe me,” Theon whispers on Robb’s ear.

“It’s a feeling shared by many, trust me,” Robb whispers back.

The office is clearly being used by someone else. The framed picture of a weasel-faced man posing with a pregnant woman on the desk suggests a Frey. He’s probably a great-grandson or someone equally irrelevant. Robb doesn’t recognize him. He doesn’t waste time wondering about it, either. He helps Brienne look into the file-cabinet to the left while Sam turns the computer on and Theon sits down on a plastic chair and starts rolling a cigarette between his fingers.

“What?” He rolls his eyes when Robb gives him a dirty look. “I already did my bit. It’s not like I know what you’re looking for.”

Before Robb can answer, Sam says:

“I need a password.”

Robb gives him his old password and watches Sam typing with baited breath.

“It worked!” Sam smiles. For the first time in the night, he relaxes some. “I can’t believe...”

“They didn’t even change the password?” Theon is smirking. “Wow. Who even are these dumbasses?”

“People often underestimate how vengeful wronged ex-employees can be,” Brienne chimes in from where she’s skimming a file. “If you won’t help the search, go and be the look-out.”

Theon goes, not without dragging his feet. Robb watches him go, but only for a moment. Soon all his attention is on the computer screen. He doesn’t understand a thing of what Sam is doing, just that he seems ecstatic and consumed at the same time. Minutes pass in complete silence, broken only by the clickety-clack of the keys.

Suddenly, Sam stops, hands hovering over the key-board.

He’s smiling. “I’m in.”

He puts a flash-drive out of his pocket and takes on typing again, Robb starts to bite the tips of his gloves. His heart is racing. He starts walking a path down the office, in front of the desk.

“I can’t watch,” he tells the room. “I’ll go wait outside with Theon.”

Brienne gives him a nod; Sam doesn’t even look up. Robb leaves them and finds Theon at the end of the corridor, actually watching for movement and rolling the cigarette between his soft lips from one corner of his mouth to the other, and back again.

He gives Robb a tight-lipped smile when he catches his approach.

“Almost done,” Robb whispers to him.

“You seem more nervous than when we started this.”

Robb nods. “I am.”

Theon finds his hand in the dark and squeezes it.

“You’ve been through worse, remember?”

That’s true enough. Robb had a gun to his own head the second time he met Theon, the first time they talked for real. Somehow, that reassures Robb very little.

“I’m so close. It could work,” Robb says. “This could all end.”

“Things will go back to what they were.”

What they were. Robb could go back to his old life, when no one questioned his integrity, when he was respected, independent, free. When he had so many friends, a huge social circle, a fiancé eager to be with him, more money than he knew what to do with, a beautiful spacious house.

Nothing sounds as appealing as sharing the old couch with Theon, tickling his feet until he kicks.

“I don’t think things can go back to what they were,” he says. He tries to take a deep breath, but air leaves his lungs before he’s done inhaling properly. He tries again, but his heartbeat goes faster and faster. Breath escapes him as quick as he can pull air in.

Theon turns away from the corridor, from where he should be watching, to hold Robb tight be the shoulders and prop him up against the wall. For a delirious second, Robb thinks he’s going to be kissed. He holds his breath, heart racing so fast it hurts his chest.

Instead, Theon takes Robb’s hand and lays it over his own heart.

“Breath with me.”

He inhales deeply, slowly. Then he lets the air out in the same unhurried rhythm. Robb’s hand goes up and down with the movement of his breastbone. With some difficulty, he mirrors the time of inhales and exhales, until he’s breathing normally on his own again.

Still, Theon doesn’t let go. He gets closer, fits himself under Robb’s underarm and wraps his other arm around Robb’s waist.

“Easy there. Like that. Things will be fine,” he says. “I’m right here with you.”

Robb looks at him, at his angular face, barely visible with the scarce lights of nearby buildings. He nods. Theon smells like his cloven cigarettes, though he hasn’t lightened the one on his mouth yet, and that inane fact alone makes Robb feel safer.

“Can I have that?”

“Probably,” Theon says. “What do you want?”

Robb smiles weakly. “The cigarette.”

Theon snorts, takes the cigarette out of his mouth and puts it on Robb’s. It tastes foul, as most cigarettes do, and also like spices. It’s damp with saliva. But it’s Theon’s saliva, and that makes it better somehow. It almost makes it good.

Theon takes a look around to make sure no one is around before lightening the tip. He shushes Robb when he coughs, but he’s laughing a bit too.

“Try holding it longer in your chest. The goal is to enjoy it, not to finish it as fast as possible.” He smirks and winks at Robb. “An advice you should consider for other areas of life as well.”

Robb is about to reply that he knows how to have sex, thank you very much, when the smoke triggers the sprinkler system. They share a look and take off to the office at the same time.

Brienne and Sam are running in their direction, both looking equally perplexed, but Robb doesn’t take the time to explain anything.

“Follow me, and keep your head down,” he says.

They run. Poor Sam’s legs are shaking so much that at some point Brienne grabs him by the scruff of his neck and drags him a good 20 feet. They round a corner just as the sounds of security personnel rushing to Robb’s old office reaches their ears. Theon and Robb are testing door after door, until finally they find an unlocked one and hide inside.

Theon has a healthy flush to his cheeks and a maniac grin that has no place in this situation, but that somehow makes Robb’s heart lighter. “Should we bar the door?”

“It’s no use,” Brienne says. “If they’re looking for us and find it unlocked but blocked, they’ll know we’re here anyway.”

Robb huffs a breath in frustration. “I can’t lose the evidence! Not after all this trouble! Sam,” he turns to the man sat on the floor half-hidden behind a xerox machine, “give me the flash-drive, there’s some tape and plastic behind you. I’m going to swallow it.”

“Really?” Theon snorts. “Wouldn’t you rather put it up your butt?”

“Why the fuck would I do that?!”

“It’s so much easier to retrieve!”

“That’s not the point!” Robb facepalms. “The point is to hide it! How would putting it in my ass help?”

“You’re just scared of it,” Theon declares. “You tops are all the same.”

“You are such a little–”

“I don’t have it!” Sam squeaks, voice an octave higher than his usual tone.

All eyes turn to him. Even Brienne, who had been watching enraptured and blushing as Theon and Robb argued, looks at him in shock.

“What do you mean?” She frowns. She doesn’t look particularly angry, but she’s frowning and looking down, and that’s enough to make Sam tremble. “We waited until you copied everything before taking off.”

“Y-yes, I know-w, but in the hurry, I – I j-just forgot.”

Robb just lets himself slide to the floor, the smooth wall helping on his descend. He doesn’t even have the energy to yell at Sam.

Theon sits by his side and hugs Robb around the shoulders. Robb buries his face on his neck and lets the smell of cloves comfort him.

“What do we do now?” Brienne’s voice reaches him in a muffled whisper.

He’d rather lose himself on Theon’s skin than think about it, but he answers.

“We’ll wait a bit to see if the coast is clear. If it’s not… then I’ll surrender myself and try to convince him I was alone. You three try to escape.”

Brienne protests. Sam, too, in his wavering voice. Theon just holds him tighter.

“I’ll stay with him, you two go,” he says, tone full of steel. It’s so unlike him that Robb looks up just to watch it. “You’re his lawyer and the only guy with the balls to investigate the Freys. You can help him much better by not getting arrested.”

That shuts them up.

Robb should be saying something about how Theon should go with them too, that there’s no point in sacrificing his freedom for Robb. It’s not like he’ll be of any use behind bars either. But he’s selfish; he fists his hand on Theon’s shirt and hides his face on his collarbone again.

It doesn’t matter if Theon is in it for the money. Robb is so grateful for everything about him that it almost hurts.

They wait in undisturbed silence for one hour, then two. Just when it seems safe to go, the door lock clicks softly and opens with the lightest of hinges.

Robb looks up from where Theon is massaging his scalp to see Olyvar watching him with a pained expression.

He has the flash-drive in a tight grip on his hand.

“This is yours,” he says.

Robb gets up and takes it, in disbelief. But the more he looks at Olyvar, the more things click into place.

“You weren’t into it,” he says. “You didn’t know I was being framed.”

Olyvar nods. “I didn’t. Not until after. When I learned… you were nowhere to be found, Robb!”

“What are you even doing here, Olly?”

“I’ve been working security for Merrett for the past month or so. He has those headaches, it wasn’t difficult to convince him. After your Santa stunt, I figured you’d try something again sooner or later,” he smiles, though it looks pained. “Don’t worry, I’m going to lose the camera records. Ground personnel thinks there was a minor electric fire. No one will know you and your friends were here.”

Robb looks behind him. Sam is clearly torn between the need to hide and the desire to grab the flash-drive. Brienne has her shoulders hunched and her face turned away in the universal posture of people trying to ignore a conversation happening in hearing-range. Theon is staring straight at the wall in front of him, but he’s not pretending not to eavesdrop at all.

He turns back to Olyvar. “You know this might ruin your family.”

“I have more family than the Freys.” Olyvar shrugs. “And it might clean your name.”

Robb sighs, relieved. “Thank you.”

Olyvar shrugs again, then he all but guides them safely out and sees them away at the door. Once there, he looks at Robb long and hard, but closes the door without saying anything else.

“You think he’ll keep his word?” Brienne asks when they’re walking away, fighting the grey slush accumulated on the streets that no one will try to clean away for a while yet.

He thinks to Olyvar’s sad smile, his wounded face when he caught Robb with Theon, to how enthusiastic he had been about their wedding plans. To how he still gave the flash-drive back in the end.

“He will,” Robb says. “I’m sure of it.”

Theon, though he had looked over his shoulder to hear the answer, turns back ahead and walks faster.

Sam’s article is comprehensive. It makes the first page of the New York Post. He sends the newspaper to Robb at Theon’s address on the day of the publication. By March the investigation on Robb has been finalized and he’s no longer a suspect of anything.

The day his name is officially cleaned, Theon gives him a shy smile that Robb’s never seen on him before. It softens his face. There’s only calm where there’s usually a sharp sense of humor and an invitation to wickedness.

“I suppose I won’t be seeing much of you anymore.”

It’s embarrassing to admit it, but Robb’s been delaying the move out of Theon’s flat for a good month now. He’s loathe to give up the couch and the tiny place he has carved for himself in Theon’s life. But Theon has gone above and beyond for him, and he has gotten his monetary compensation.

Their acquaintance is as good as done; there’s no reason to linger.

Robb smiles back at him. “You’ll finally have some peace in your life again.”

Theon scoffs, looking away. “Peace is highly overestimated.”

Privately, Robb disagrees. Once he might have been more interested in living thrill after thrill, but Theon had been a quiet place in the storm for him, and he had liked it. He’d needed it, even.

“I have something for you,” he says, eager to change the subject. “I’ve been thinking about giving it to you for a while.”

Theon lightens up and Robb finds himself grinning back.

“Close your eyes,” Robb says.

Theon snorts but obeys, leaning slightly forward, lips parted just enough that it would be the easiest thing in the world to kiss him. Robb wishes he could stay in this moment, staring at him, forever. He wishes he could take a picture of him and tattoo the image behind his eyelids.

Shaking his head, he retrieves a box from under the couch and lays it on Theon’s lap.

Theon opens his eyes and lowers his gaze to it, a frown of confusion on his forehead. Robb shrugs his questioning glance off and watches as Theon opens the gift slowly, without tearing a single bit of paper. He even folds it carefully before turning his attention to the gift itself.

Only to have no outward reaction.

“…Do you like it?” Robb dares to ask after a full minute of Theon staring blankly down at the open box.

Theon blinks, like he’s awakening from a trance, and gives Robb a forced smile.

“It’s lovely, really. Thank you.”

It’s an underwhelming reaction, if Robb’s being honest. He had been sure he’d love it.

“You don’t like it.” Robb lets it escape his mouth without meaning to, and then he’s scrambling to fix it. “It’s okay! You can pick another one at the store, I swear there are a ton of options. Or you can return it and get the money–”

He’s about to finish the phrase with “and buy one you like somewhere else”, but Theon closes the box harshly and gets up from the couch. He gives his back to Robb and pretends to check on the fern that Robb had learned was real, in the end.

“Maybe it’s time you should go.”

And Robb _knows_ he has overstayed his welcome, but the idea of leaving things off like that… he can’t let the strange bitterness in Theon’s voice be the last note of their time together.

“Not until you tell me why you’re so angry,” he says, meaning _not until you’re not angry at me anymore_.

He thinks that maybe Theon will throw him out with no explanation, keep ignoring him until decency forces Robb to leave, but he turns around.

Robb’s heart sinks. He’s not angry at all. He’s hurt.

“Why did you give me that?” He asks. “Answer me. It’s not a rhetoric question.”

He could say the less embarrassing half-truth now. He could say that, after everything Theon had done for him, he wanted to give something back, something he’d like, that would make him happy. He had started searching for a gift as soon as he had access to his bank account again, to no avail.

Until the robe had jumped out and he had thought, _this needs to be Theon’s, no one else’s, he’ll love it_.

Half-truths are not in Robb’s nature.

“I didn’t want you to forget me,” he confesses. “I wanted you to look at it and think about me.”

“A piece of cloth is no substitute for a person,” Theon says. His voice has never been so cutting, but his smile is even more so. “I know I’m shallow and money-obsessed, but not that much. If you don’t want me to get over you, you have to stay.”

There’s so much he could say, that needs to be said, but only one thing can’t wait.

“Do you want me to stay?”

Theon smiles wider. “Of course.”

Robb smiles too and crosses the tiny room in a run until his mouth is on Theon’s. It’s so, so bad as far as kisses go, it’s truly terrible. They keep clinking teeth and smiling into each other’s mouth, but no one could pay Robb to stop.

They do, though, because Theon is laughing so much that he needs a break. He lays his head on Robb’s shoulder and sighs.

“Now that is a gift.”

“Agreed,” Robb says and kisses the top of Theon’s head. “You can also keep the robe.”

Theon pinches his side, but that’s the last of his complaints.


	5. Day 5 - All for the aesthetics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I used prompt 29, "Your family has a tradition with ugly sweaters. I love that I’m being included, but I’m also questioning all the life decisions that brought me to this moment".

Robb would ask why on Earth is Theon wearing a coat inside, but really, he knows.

He walks up to him where he’s sat at the bottom of the stairs watching Sansa and Arya argue about the best seating arrangements, as if they don’t settle on the same way every year, and grins when Theon startles with the sudden noise of footsteps.

“Who do you think is winning?” Robb whispers on Theon’s ear, sitting on the step above the one he’s occupying.

“No idea, but I hope Arya gets her way,” he whispers back. “Sansa wants to put me between Jon and your father, what the fuck?”

Robb snorts. Of all family members he’s met so far – and there’s only Uncle Brandon and Uncle Ben left – Theon was intimidated by Dad the most. Probably a reaction to the way things are with his own family and fucking Balon, but Robb can’t help finding it a little funny. If anything, Dad is the one more likely to be supportive of his kids’ relationships; Mom is the one who will interrogate partners about jobs and prospects and then deem no one good enough for her precious children, but Theon likes her alright.

“You’ll be fine. Dad only seems scary, but Arya is never going to give up the seat between him and Jon anyway. She’s a total daddy’s girl and Jon is her favorite.” He takes a lock of Theon’s hair between his fingers and plays with it before tucking it behind his ear and leaning into his space to kiss his cheek. “However… there _i__s_ one thing you can do to endear yourself to them if you want, just in case.”

Theon immediately perks up and gives Robb his full attention.

“Lose the coat.”

“Robb...”

“It’s not so bad!” Robb argues, grinning despite his best efforts to remain serious.

It is really bad, in truth. It’s terrible.

The tradition of ugly sweaters goes back to his childhood, to the days when his parents stopped going to church for Christmas. The town is small, the Catholic community is smaller, and while everybody agreed poor Cat Tully didn’t deserve to get cheated on so openly by her fiancé, they weren’t very supportive of her dumping him for his brother. They weren’t supportive of her marrying said brother at eight months pregnant a year later. They weren’t supportive of everyone being happy with the way things had turned out.

His parents had wanted something to fill the void, and they had picked knitting, of all things. The knitting community is far less judgmental over exchanging one brother for another. His parents had stayed there, all their kids knew how to knit, and ugly Christmas sweaters had become their thing.

They get uglier and uglier every year. Everyone is expected to wear one at Christmas dinner, knit by themselves or bought, or suffer the dreadful punishment of no pudding for dessert.

Robb knows exactly how Theon feels about dressing well. It’s the same way he feels about his looks in general, which is unfortunately reinforced by how people treat him – like his appearance is not only the best thing about him, but the only thing worth their attention. To say he had been reluctant to partake in tradition is to vastly understate it. That’s why Robb had told Mom he had forgotten to tell Theon about it, in the hopes that he wouldn’t be forced to participate and Robb would get the brunt of the scolding.

But his parents were not to be thwarted. As the only new person coming to dinner this year, Theon has the place of honor, and Mom and Dad took the welcoming to the family seriously: they had given Theon the ugliest sweater Robb has ever seen in his life.

The hems are peaking from under the coat about his waist, a muted puke green that offends even Robb’s color blinded sensibilities. Hidden by the coat, the pattern is a confused mess of purples and pinks in what are supposed to be candles and bows. The pallette could have been hand-picked to clash with Theon’s complexion. They had both been left speechless before it.

Some moments can make or break a relationship. Watching Theon’s face as he had been presented with his sweater, the way it had frozen in a horrified smile, Robb had been flooded with the feeling that _that_ was such a moment. His stomach had dropped to his feet. He could see the scene clearly in his head: Theon would decide this was too much, leave the sweater and Robb behind, and run to a new boyfriend, one whose family didn’t enforce such a ridiculous dress code.

That hadn’t happened, of course. Theon had accepted the sweater with as much grace as he could, changing into it soon after, and Robb’s heart had soared with the sudden realization that Theon loved him.

And yet he had slipped away to put on his coat not long after. Love only goes so far, but no matter. Robb can compromise.

“Maybe wear the coat open?” Robb suggests. “I know you’re bothered by it, but honestly, you can pull this off. You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. You could pull off a potato sack.”

“A potato sack wouldn’t be this hideous,” Theon complains, hiding his face on his hands with a huff until he emerges, newly resigned. “I know they mean well, it’s just… _I don’t like it_.”

“I know, love. But it’s not like they can piss a circle around you to mark you as theirs.”

Theon snorts. “Is this what this is all about? Because that’s never going to happen anyway.”

“How come? You belong here. You fit right in.”

“Really? Last I heard I don’t have a college degree or a good job, which sets me apart from, let’s see… oh, right, every adult in this house. My dating history is messier than even yours. Oh, and when my aunt exchanged one uncle for another, it ended in murder, prison and a cocaine binge. Just a little different from what went on here.” Theon smirks bitterly and crosses his arms, doing his best to hide inside the coat. “How do I fit in with you and your Hallmark movie family exactly?”

“The only criteria is that I want you here,” Robb says, serious now. “I love you and that’s all it takes. Your place is with me and everyone knows that.”

Theon looks at him like he wants to argue, but just slumps his shoulders in defeat in the end.

“I guess I can wear it open...”

“Great!” Robb says and kisses him loudly on the cheek. Experience suggests Theon will run away from anything more explicit in front of witnesses he knows.

He gets up and pulls Theon along with him. They enter the dining room just in time to watch Sansa and Arya come to an agreement. Robb and Theon are to be seated next to each other, with Rickon on Robb’s other side and Sansa on Theon’s.

“Baby Jesus be praised,” Theon says, a more natural smile on his pink mouth.

“I think you can thank Arya for that one,” Robb says, distracted. He looks around quickly; Arya is busy laying the last silverware down on the table, a concentration line between her brows, and Sansa left to call everybody else to eat.

Robb seizes his chance and jumps on Theon.

Arya yells “get a room!” very loudly, but it gets drowned out by Theon’s louder chuckles. However, soon he stops and kisses back, and they only separate when a wolf whistle pierces the air.

Uncle Brandon is grinning at them, the first to enter the dinning room but followed by the rest of the family. He doesn’t look for his place – though Robb would bet anything he was put between Aunt Lya and Bran – but approaches with a ready smile and a hand-shake.

“That one looks like a keeper!”

It’s basically the same sentence he says to any significant other his nephews and nieces bring home. Variations are small. Uncle Brando is not someone to fix what ain’t broke. Before today, Robb would answer with an embarrassed smile or a request for him to behave, but this time he takes Theon’s hand in his and grins.

“I know! Uncle Brandon, my boyfriend Theon.”

Uncle Brandon raises an eyebrow, but his smile never wavers. He shakes hands with Theon and keeps making small talk while everybody else comes in. Even sitting down for dinner can be a production with that many people in the same place.

“Are you feeling the cold that much that you’re wearing a coat inside?” He asks, but his tone is joking. “Do we finally have some tropical blood in this family?”

“Sorry, I’m a regular British type,” Theon says, squeezing Robb’s hand hard. “I’m going to take it off now, in fact.”

And he does. To his credit, he barely shows any reluctance, even when Uncle Brandon outright laughs at his sweater.

“Watch and learn,” Uncle Brandon says, taking off his own coat once he’s recovered some.

Robb would also ask why on Earth is Uncle Brandon wearing a coat inside, but he suspects that in his annual attempt to dodge Mom, he entered the house in a hurry. It would explain the dirty snow he’s trailing on the carpet. He didn’t even bother kicking it off of his shoes. Still, the mess he brings inside is almost worth it when he dramatically lets the coat fall from his shoulders to reveal a sweater even worse than Theon’s.

“Grandma, it’s me! Anastasia!” He yells, effectively turning all eyes in the room to him.

If Theon’s sweater is a kaleidoscope of jarring brightness, Uncle Brandon’s is an inoffensive dark grey. However, while Theon’s sweater has blurs that are supposed to be bows and candles, Uncle Brandon’s has a single red stocking just under big white letters that read “WELL HUNG”.

Silence is absolute for a heartbeat. Then Theon’s laughter breaks the spell. Everybody laughs with him. It’s more a testament to how contagious his laughter is than an endorsement of Uncle Brandon’s humor – Mom looks caught between a reflexive smile and a frown, for one – but it’s enough that everybody finds their seats without further incidents.

Robb offers to take Uncle Brandon’s coat to the closet at the front hall and Theon follows him, his own coat hanging limply from his arms.

“You didn’t say innuendo sweaters were an option,” he points out.

He looks about 100% more comfortable in his eye-sore of a sweater, and for that alone Robb forgives Uncle Brandon for giving him ideas.

“They’re not,” Robb says. “But there’s nothing stopping us from making new traditions.”

Theon shrugs, passing the coat along to let Robb hang it next to his, among all the other coats from his family.

“Next year,” he says, like the decision came easily.

“Next year,” Robb agrees, beaming at him.

Theon beams back, and Robb must kiss him again just because he’s there and he choose to be there. Then they go back to the dinning room, where everybody is waiting for them.


	6. Day 7 - Gift-giving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 37, "I like you a lot, so I gave you an awesome gift for Secret Santa last year; this year you got me and gave me this crappy non-gift. Do you hate me or something?"

Theon makes good money, and the company he works for is big on respecting worker rights and building team morale. It’s probably the best place he has worked so far in his life, but he’s not under any illusions about what is going on. This is a business transaction: they pay for Theon’s time and skill, and that’s the extent of Theon’s loyalty. No matter how many benefits they bring to the table, Theon is never going to consider it anything else but his due. No one is doing him any favors here.

There’s one thing, and one thing alone, that Theon would thank the company for, and it’s for hiring Robb Stark.

In all his 6 feet tall, ginger-haired glory, he might be the most attractive guy Theon has ever met. He has been ready to climb that from day 1, from the moment they shook hands and Theon’s skin had broken into shivers. And to make matters even worse, Robb is just a lot of fun, confident, smart. A good time all-around, if only he’d get a hint.

Except for walking straight to him and asking if he’s down to fuck, Theon has tried every trick in the book to show he’s interested. Not a photo on Robb’s social media has gone without a like and a thirsty comment. Not a day goes by when Theon doesn’t send him texts or silly photos or drops by his desk during lunch. He drops innuendos into conversation like it’s going out of style, he makes sure they touch a lot and for a long time. Robb is the reason Theon has dared to open Grindr at his workplace.

They’ve graduated from work friends to friends who hang out on the weekends for a couple months and it’s great. Theon likes Robb a lot, much more than most people he knows. Fuck buddies is the next logical step, but maybe they can be more than that in time.

Theon had thought it would be a smooth transition. Robb is shy about that stuff, so Theon has been taking things at a much slower pace than he’s used to. But he’s only been this patient because he’s fairly sure Robb is gay, or at least a bit interested in men. He wouldn’t go to all this effort otherwise. More specifically, he’s sure he’s interested in Theon.

Or he had been.

“What the fucking fuck?” He whispers to himself.

There’s no schooling his face into any semblance of politesse or enthusiasm, but no one is looking. Everyone in the conference room is busy opening their own Secret Santa gifts or eating the rest of the Christmas snacks. Torrhen is trying to spike the fruit punch discreetly, because there’s not enough drama already with Daryn and Sigorn making eyes at Alys.

The culprit himself is nowhere to be found.

The Secret Santa is supposed to be anonymous. Theon wouldn’t even know his gift had been from Robb if he hadn’t spotted him leaving the drugstore next door, present under an arm, tip-toeing like a cartoon criminal. Theon had been there buying condoms and he had thought it was hilarious at the time, he had wanted to go and make fun of him a bit, but Robb had left before Theon could call him. Now he knows better -- there’s nothing funny about the situation.

He gets up and walks out of the room, stomach turning in anger.

It’s coincidence that he runs into Robb at all. He meant to go to his own desk, pack things up for the weekend and leave. But he hadn’t had the patience to wait for the lift, so he took the stairs, and there he is, pacing up and down a flight of stairs between the 8th and 7th floor, cell phone in hand.

He doesn’t see Theon at first, so Theon just watches. Robb looks nervous; every movement of his is frenetic. Theon doesn’t really want to talk to him, so he retreats, but not quietly enough that Robb misses it.

“Theon! Hey!”

“Hey yourself,” Theon says on auto-pilot. He tries to summon a smile, but it’s useless. He fails, and that is the last straw. He is angry about not being able to smirk his feelings away, and the anger at Robb overflows. “Why the fuck did you give me fucking shampoo for Secret Santa?”

To his credit, Robb doesn’t even try to deny it. His blue eyes go round and he actually takes a step back.

“Shit.”

“Shit! Shit, indeed!” Theon says. “You know that fancy thermos you coffee-addicted ass got last year, that you still use everyday? That was me! The rare coffee blends? Me! The coffee candy? Me, me, me! All me! Because I liked you, so I gave you something I thought you’d enjoy! I put a minimum of thought into picking something because I thought we were friends!”

“That’s what I tried to do as well!” Robb says.

Theon scoffs. “I know you’re lying through your teeth.”

“It’s true! It’s not a secret how you get about your hair!”

“Which is why I’m never using this rancid goop on it!” Theon yells. “Don’t pretend you tried even a little with this because I know you didn’t! I saw you buying it. You left it to the last minute!”

Last year, Theon got a beige scarf for work Secret Santa even though he never ever wears that color. Before that, he got a gift-card for a bookstore. Two nice, neutral gifts that screamed “I don’t know you well, but you don’t deserve to be fucked over on Christmas”. Theon had happily passed them along to Asha. No harm, no foul.

But he expected a little more of Robb. Had he imagined every tender glance thrown his direction, or the way Robb lit up when Theon entered the room? Had he made up all the little things that showed that Robb liked him back? Maybe he had wanted it so badly he let himself see something that just wasn’t there.

“Do you care so little about me?” He asked after the silence stretched out for too long. “Am I bothering you when I call and text and look for you on my break?”

Robb gulps, shaking his head. “Would you believe me if I said no?”

Theon shrugs. “I guess not. I just wish…” That he hadn’t been played for a fool. That he didn’t care so much. That Robb liked him back, just a little. Nothing that he is willing to put into words. “Well, happy holidays. Excuse me.”

There’s a bottle of rum with his name on it waiting at his apartment and Theon plans to get there ASAP. He doesn’t have time to lose with this circus anymore.

He makes his exit without incident. Unless you count Robb following him as an incident and babbling apologies all the way there. Theon doesn’t. He’s going to ditch Robb at the parking lot anyway, if he even goes that far.

But Robb actually rushes ahead to intercept him as soon as they’re outside. When Theon just steps around him, he starts walking backwards, pleading face turned to Theon.

“I swear I can explain-”

“Leave it.”

“If you’d just listen to me-.”

“I said no!”

“For God’s sake, I know fucked up!” Robb shouts. He steps in front of Theon and grabs him by the arms. The grip is loose; what keeps Theon rooted to the stop is the emotion in his voice. “I know, okay? But it’s not true that I don’t care about you and you know it! I just… Can I show you something? Please?”

_Do I have a choice?_, Theon thinks, but he knows that’s unfair. If he pulled his arms away, Robb would let him go. He wants an answer, though it hurts to hope.

Robb leads him back to his own car and unlocks the trunk.

“I won’t be less angry if you kidnap me,” Theon warms.

“I dare you to find space in this thing,” Robb says, and opens the trunk.

And really, that would be a challenge. There’s no space to be found. The trunk is filled with carefully wrapped gifts in different sizes, some spilling into the backseat. Theon has never seen that many gifts in the same place, not even under the paltry Christmas tree his Mom always insisted on when he was little.

“They’re not all for you,” Robb says. “Some are for my parents and siblings. Six are yours. I’ve been thinking about what I’d get you since I got your name from the hat, but I couldn’t make up my mind, I didn’t like any of what I had bought, so I kinda… panicked.”

Theon approaches the car, curiosity overtaking his resolve to stay angry. There is his name in the name tags. Robb urges him to take them, but Theon shakes his head.

“I just wanted you to care,” he says. He can’t help smiling. The sheer relief is going to his head. He feels dizzy.

Robb looks relieved too. He’s giving Theon that glance that Theon has never seen him give to anyone else. It was not all inside his head, then.

“I care about you,” he says. His fingers reach for Theon and pushes a lock of hair behind his ear, lingering on his cheek until sliding to his jaw. “I don’t think you know just how much. You’re the best thing about this job.”

“I think I know,” Theon says. He lays his own hand over Robb’s, takes it to his mouth and kisses his palm.

Robb steps forwards. His mouth takes the place of his hand, but the kiss is chaste and slow, almost scared, but leaves Theon’s whole body craving more. Much like their whole acquaintance.

Theon smiles into it and lets himself be kissed. It’s enough for now.


End file.
